


Wicked Delights

by WayferWanderer



Category: Red Queen Series - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Adult Content, Book 1: Red Queen, Crimes & Criminals, Enemies to Lovers, Erotica, F/M, Fiction, Gangs, Gangsters, Italian Mafia, Multi, New York, Revenge, Sex, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WayferWanderer/pseuds/WayferWanderer
Summary: Maven Calore was the son of a traitor to New York's notorious Calore Crime Family, as punishment for his mothers treachery he was tied and bound to the family he never wanted to be apart of. His soul had been tainted a long ago and his darker tendencies grew accustomed to his world. He'd never known anything different. His mother's sadistic tendencies & twisted love carved away any light he'd ever known. His half brother Cal was heir to the crime family, but the gang war between the Scarlet Mob and the Calore Mafia, brutal enemies, in a game of power. Maven was ready to do what was necessary, until he met her. Mare Barrow, who shifts everything he's ever known. She's not who she seems, caught right in the crossfire of their bloody war. Intertwined in each others paths, colliding their fates in a deadly alliance which brings them together.A treacherous game of love and betrayal and secrets has just begun.Mavens faced far greater dangers but she might just be the most dangerously wicked thing he's ever dealt with. Mare entered into a game where her deepest desires and mission start to become blurry at the hands of mobster Maven & his temptations only relish in bringing out her wicked delights.
Relationships: Mare Barrow/Maven Calore, Maven Calore/Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

__________________

The smell of tobacco and gunpowder filled the air. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth, bitter and tangy, salty and sweet. There was an aroma to blood that welded a certain sense to a heightened state, a trigger of sorts, almost like the feeling of freezing cold water that jolts and awakes your body like lightning.

Blood did the same.

After tasting it for so long you start to unknowingly use it as a trigger, a mechanism for shifting yourself into a different state. Flight or fight. Though usually it's more kill or be killed. It’s a lesson not many can learn from and more than most, once learned, never make the mistake to fault or hesitate again.

War is like that—gang war.

It's less political, only in the sense there is less false reasoning and unlike actual wars, you know who the real enemy is. Clear as day, but in this game it’s harder to distinguish and draw a fine line. It's always shifting, loyalties, territory, anyone can betray anyone.

It's a game of roulette and the chances are 37 to 1; however, if you lose at this table, you lose your life. It’s honour, loyalty, territory, blood and most importantly, power.

The game can turn on you at any moment, shifting, changing and it can lead you to the darkest places of your soul.

It had led him there more time than most. His mother always said, “Maven, d _arkness is the essence of the light.” And_ , _“Without it, light is nothing but a fickle ordinary day._ ”

Maven didn’t understand at the time, mostly because his mother wasn’t known for her kindness. She most certainly never allowed him to learn anything gently. Her voice reigned over his every thought and move, even after her death. Maven understood a lot of things and after seeing the deepest and darkest holes of humanity he understood very well, that the dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. However, light or dark there comes a point in time when one's conscience has no position in a place or life like his, and in this arena, the things they do is common for men with no conscience.

It’s how you survive. It was always about surviving and survival is how you stay in the game, you kill and do horrible things in order to survive. He’d tasted enough blood and lasted long enough to realise that.

“P-please” the man begged.

_God what I wouldn’t kill for a glass of whiskey,_ Cole thought as he rolled up his sleeves.

“Please!”

But more pressing matters keep him preoccupied.

And under this warped night sky, Maven Calore, the “Shadow” of the Calore crime family, dealt with the decrepit.

“You’re one of them aren’t you?” His voice was an annoyance to his ears. He ignored the unremarkable question, it’s always the same. The black-hearted, to disappoint the cliche, was often so unremarkable.

He let out a deep breath but it does nothing except heighten the ever growing anger and frustration building within him. He finished rolling his sleeves and placed his jacket neatly on the stool beside him. Loosening his tie, slowly while turning to face the decrepit Lakeland gimp.

The man’s face bloody and swollen, saliva and blood mixed in a concoction of tainted rouge dripping onto the floor and his nice white shirt. Maven pulled his tie off his neck in one swift motion—never tearing away his eyes from the pathetic lackey.

He hated wasting his breath on the smaller, pathetic fish in a much larger pond, but even pawns can bring some satisfaction.

He slowly wrapped his tie around his fist, securing his knuckles.

It does nothing in reality to protect your fists, but in the necessity of the game its one as crucial of the mind as well as strength.

He is the first to break. They always do. Maven had a particular skill in that, thanks to his mother.

“P-please whatever you want I’ll give it to you.” His voice tremors and slurs. He’d already taken a beating from him, very heavy was Maven execution of every punch.

He could only pity him as not everyone has the strength to endure. We are human after all. Though pity doesn’t outweigh the disgust.

“You Lakelanders, are so distasteful.” He walked towards him, “Much like your name suggests, you really are a two-faced fuck, Jekyll.” he chuckle, _“_ Repulsive and feeble. _”_

Jekyll spits blood on his shoes, he smirk was wicked.

_Looks like he wants to play_. Maven pondered at the many things he wanted to do to him.

“You’re just looking to be crushed!” His voice venomous.

Maven genuinely chuckle as his remark, “Crushed?” he runs his hands through his jet black hair, “That’s unexpected.”

The pit in his stomach rising and fuelling a fire deep within his core. “You seem to forget the predicament you’re in…” he steps close enough to smell the scent of his cologne,it was putrid and burned his nostrils, he continued, “Shall I remind you?”

There was no hesitation or moment where Mavens fistcollided with his cheek, the impact hard and brutish, even with the tie taking some of the impact Cole felt everything and wanted to.

_Again, and again, and again._

He stepped back, balancing his weight on his right foot and there, his left fist swung out and back into Jekyll’s jaw, his neck swaying like the muscles had gone limp. Three or four times, left and right. His head tilts back after Maven finally finished, the man’s jaw open and dripping.

His hands run through his black hair again pulling it back slick from the sweat. His breath hitched, panting slightly and the adrenaline coursing through his body.

Unwrapping the tie from his knuckles, he places it on his shoulder. Taking a long look as his work, Jekyll’s swollen eye following his every move, anticipating if he’d go another round.

“W..wh..why?”

Maven knew what he was asking, but he entertained the question. “Why what?”

He takes a moment, reeling from his beating, “Why…” he spits the blood from his mouth, “why me? I’m no-n-nobody.”

He bent down before him, grabbing his yellow hair in a ball in his fist, “Oh no, you’re very special.”

He yanked him forward like a puppeteer, “So special in fact, that you think yourself above sacred laws and these laws are sacred because even though they are unwritten, they are off-limits. Not even men like us should break them.” He moves his hand to Jekyll’s face, holding it in his hand, firm.

“But that’s what differentiates scum like you from me.” He moved his hands and pull him to his feet, almost tearing the collar where his grip held. The slight sound of material ripping in his fists.

“I…I didn’t do anything!”

He let go and dropped him hard and as he laid on the ground his laugh started to echo throughout the basement.

“Yo..you think your better than me!” He struggles to his knees and spits.

Maven amuses his taunts and walk towards him, towering over his shattered frame, “Oh I know I am.” His voice deep and husky.

“You’re the same! Don’t fool yourself!” He sneers exposing his bloody teeth, “Your blood is more tainted than mine.” He sniggered, pushing his patience to his limits.

_Fool._

His next words proved right to Mavens thoughts, “Just like your whore mother.”

Mavens leg shifted back and out in a curved impact to his temple, the sound shot throughout the small room, a crack of thunder. He kicked him so hard that it seems his head would detach. He stood over Jekyll, whose blood had splattered over the floor like paint over a canvas. He was the artists. 

Jekyll struggled but again was immediately hammered by another impact of the finest Italian leather, Mavens shoe grinding his face into the cement.

“You’re gonna kill him,” Tig, Mavens second, moved into the frame. Maven had almost forgotten that Tig was even in the room.

He moved towards Maven, hesitantly. “This is your call, but is it worth it?”

His eyes shifted towards Tig, his breath easing and focused. Maven stepped forward and pull his black matted lighter from his pocket and a cigarette from his vest, placing it between his lips, clicking the lighter. The sizzle of the cigarette draws his focus as he inhales deeply, filling his lungs, exhaling slowly. The smell of nicotine coating his tongue.

The sound of footsteps interrupting the scene, “You don’t have orders for this,” Ptolemus's voice filled the room as he made his was down the basement stairs. Ptolemus was a loyal dog but one with his tail always tucked between his legs.

“I’m going go down with the boss for this!”

Maven inhaled again, savouring the taste and then releasing the smoke into room.

“Maven! Are you hearing me?”

“Please be quiet, I can’t even hear myself losing the will to live.”

“This isn’t a fucking joke Maven!”

Tig steps between them fast.

“I suggest you watch your tone Ptolemus, he still hold rank. Show some of that respect you seem to throw around to anyone willing to give you a treat.”

Ptolemus stays silent.

Maven turned to reach his gaze, “No one asked you to be here, you were to stay in the car.”

His annoyance grew, Maven preferred if Ptolemus's presence was as far away from him as possible. He knew he’d go running to the boss. But right now, he couldn’t give a fuck.

Ptolemus turns towards the stairs, mumbling with his tail between his legs.

_Fucking coward,_ _all bark and no bite_.

The sound of his feet on the stairs was heavy and without looking towards him, “Watch yourself.” Mavens voice was firm but soft, as if he was ordering lunch.

The halt in his step is all Maven needed to know that he heard before he leaves the room.

Tig sighs in frustration, “ You know as much of a dick as Ptolemus is, and as much as it fucking kills me to say, he’s got a point. This is all unauthorised.”

_I know._

It wasn’t the first time he’d done this and it wasn’t the first time Tig had been there warning him of exactly that.

He flicked his cigarette on the floor and walked towards the stool grabbing his jacket and sliding it on. His back turned.

He looks over his shoulder to see Jekyll squirming on the ground groaning. He takes a moment, contemplating. Maven walks closer and flicks him over with his foot.

Tig stepping close, “Maven, how many times ca—“

BANG.

The shot thundered throughout the room, an echo of waves. The lead bullet punched through the lower bone of his eyes socket, the gush of blood was fierce.

Maven didn’t blink as he pushed his gun back into its place, resting underneath his suit.

The smell of tobacco and gunpowder filled the air. 

He steps over Jekyll’s body, “I’ll leave this in your hands then.”

Tig sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as he nodded.

As Maven wanders up the stairs Tig’s voice follows not directly addressing him in particular, “It’s so much easier to live in a world of black and white. The grey area you walk between…I don’t know what to do with that.”

As Maven left the room, he knew who Tig was talking too.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

THE LIBERTY OF THE MAFIA, mobs and gangsters is very possessively guarded and unwavering in the established ties that run deep throughout New York. That by reputation alone is savage. For the streets of the city, the Mafia, gangsters and mobs run the town.

There’s a saying, _Cosa Nostra_ meaning “our thing.”

Tiberias Calore VIwould alway’s repeated that like it was a bible verse and to him it was.

And to the Calore’s, it is.

There are the four main crime families, excluding the Scarlet mob.

For the four criminal groups, shared a common structure, a code of conduct and present themselves under a brand.

And like any brand you need a statement, for the mafia it was honour. Of course, they’d murder your whole family just to make a statement but they were very big on family, loyalty and honour.

It also came with power. Mavens mother would say, “Power doesn’t come from money.” That, “Power comes from loyalty and that’s something money can never really buy,”

Maven now knew why his mother had always be so stern on the ideal of loyalty—true loyalty, because loyalty based on money can always shift to someone with bigger pockets. Of course, that doesn’t mean its not done, you pay off shops owners, towns people, witnesses, officers. It keeps the wheels turning.

But true loyalty is harder to possess and richer than anything in this world.

Relentless are the Four families.

Known as the Calore, Samos, Rhambos and Merandus families, each gang with their establish territory; however, they all worked under the Calore Crime family. Leadership was something each held highly and the problem of leadership and territory where criminal gangs are considers, eventually something will come along and fuck you.

They may remain in existence by corrupt police officers, but eventually, as history has shown, when things become tight, the Mafia and Mobs were left to get on with it.

Thus, the wolves gather and they are eaten up.

Its certainty is inevitable.

One gang goes down, another rises from the ashes.

So you have to learn and adapt, it was crucial in more modern times. The old families however, Samos and Merandus guarded their leadership and rules. Refused to do business with non-Italians.

The new younger, more diverse Italian group however, Calore and Rhambos were more willing and forward thinking in expanding their operations. The generational conflict between the old and young to modernise in modern times soon changed the way of the mob and did away with unnecessary orthodox norms. Thus lead the attraction of followers and expansion of the syndicate.

Of course the gangs never trusted each other fully, none of them are that stupid. There will always be the shadow of another gang looking to take over another territory and take the winnings.

That’s just how the game has always been played. But is the game that keeps it spinning.

From the head of the snake, there comes the long list of underbosses, capos, underlings and soldiers and associates. 

It's the operation.

It comes from blood—crime families that rule the city.

Maven had seen blood spilled from every corner of this city, it lives off the corrupt, and spins like a well oiled machine mainly due to the four families.

But it also burns because of them too.

The New York take over shouldn’t be clearly interpreted as either power struggle or an act of balance, neither good nor horrible. The greatest curse in this world is that life is full of ambiguities. It muddles the moral issues by creating the ever shifting lines between balances. Call it what you will, a plague, a cure, a saviour, a necessary evil in a world already filled with evil. It’s a persuading notion to see something you don’t understand as evil—but there’s good and evil within both sides. Everyone is born with two faces—some are just more decrepit and yielding than others, and some are just better at hiding it. 

Life might not lead you where you think it will, or maybe it leads you exactly where you should be. There isn’t a correct formula to what brings it all together.

It might be a numeral accumulation of things, a need to belong, as much as a need for protection that brings young men, and sometimes women together. It’s also a foundation, a desire for more, a darker desire that might romanticise the life of an outlaw.

_For haven’t we all wanted to play a villain, just a little?_

___________________

WHENEVER Maven found himself growing grim about the early mornings; the fresh, dreary month of March that fills his soul; especially when he found himself involuntarily walking through the fish warehouses of lower Manhattan; especially when picking up collections, it requires a powerful mental principle to prevent him from deliberately stepping in front of any passing car, that happened to cross his path.

In the sunlight, the buildings almost glistened on the white chipped paint that towered over the side streets. The proud towers of the city standing tall in the distance, with majestic motion.

 _But the fucking fish,_ he thought.

Boasted was the old architecture of the outer parts of the city, but the fucking smell could make the scenery fade away in an instant because of that clouded stench.

He hated grunt work. Partly because Bernard, who looked after the paperwork for most of the warehouses was a mediocre talker who liked to shit about absolutely anything, but also because Maven knew he was being slowly punished.

And if it wasn’t for the several billion pounds of Fish. He’d still be in bed.

The warehouse, which supplies the fish in regions extending from Boston to Washington, including about 200 wholesale seafood companies in a series of various locations in the South Street seaport along the East River were hardly never out of order. Of course, all operations go through the Calore syndicate as Cal rarely lets things go out of order when he’s in control. When it came to the Calore crime family, business and money, hardly had trouble.

However, as much of a control freak as Cal was, he couldn’t control everything.

Maven knew this and so, it was needed to make occasional visits from the higher ups. It was merely a tactic of fear and reminder stating: ‘we are watching’.

Racketeering was hardly new and the business was mainly just a front for other operations.

Not like there was many of men that would be stupid enough to fuck with the Calore business, it was purely the other gangs Cal was caution of—especially the Scarlet mob.

 _No rest for the wicked,_ Maven found himself almost forming a smile but Bernard was waiting in the distance.

He passed him without acknowledging his presence. He had no allegiance to the bookie or owed him the courtesy. 

“Nice. I know you saw me.” Bernards prissy voice held a certain proprietary to it. It’s what he expected from those Samos rich kids. He was quite heavy footed contrasted to histall and scrawny physique. His loud feet followed Maven at a reasonable distance.

Maven always found the seconds before walking into the room intriguing. He’d always found the uncertainty of what was waiting behind the door.

 _Would this be the day I die?_ His mind was sharp and he always carried his gun.

They walk into the cold building and the repugnant odour burned his nostrils.

The seven men packaging abruptly stop and Davis, who transports the shipments and trucks quickly accommodates our arrival.

“Mr. Calore,” His demeanour fidgety, “W-we weren’t expecting you.” He stammered, cautious and weary. A question positioned in-between his words.

“Just a random check for collection.” Maven replied swiftly. He relaxed slightly, “O-of course. I’ll grab everything you need.” He leaves to grab what they need and takes no time having everything ready.

Handing the files to Maven, he takes them, it practically throwing it at Bernard. He want this is over as fast as he could. He needed to get out of this stench. His sense of smell in agony.

“I have all the orders filled as requested.” He nods shifting towards Bernard who was combing over the details.

“Everything looks good.” He abruptly says.

A quick rush of relief washed over Maven, “Are we done?” He says bluntly.

“Yes,” Bernard responds, returning the tone while still looking through the papers.

And then, “Um…” Bernard halts and looks up.

Maven hated the ‘um,' because it’s always subsequently followed but the fucking words “there is a problem.”

Maven turned to him, “Well, spit it out?”

“There is one shipment missing.”

 _Fucking hell,_ He internally groaned, turning back to Davis who had gone pale.

“I’ll give you one chance for an explanation Davis, but I won’t ask again.”

Davis trembles and takes a breath, the sweat forming on his brow indicated something was very fucked, Maven knew how fucking freezing it was in the warehouse.

“I…it could be anything, but one shipment hasn’t arrived s-s-since yesterday.” His voice quivered and tried to recover, “Some boys have trouble on the roads…and traffic.”

 _Bullshit_ , he thought. Maven could feel it in his gut and it was rarely ever wrong. Meaning that something is brewing and someone has jacked a shipment.

Fucking Scarlet Gang, _like I needed this today._ He sighed, pulling out his blue matte lighter, “Get the car.”

He ignites his cigarette, its taste comforting on his tongue.

Bernard does nothing but look at me.

“Are you waiting for something?”

“Shouldn’t you try to see all options first?”

He paid no attention to the idiocy, only gazing at him while taking another drag of his smoke. Bernard leaves to grab the car, acknowledging the silence.

“I-i’m…I’m sorry.” He pleads a soft apology as if he was the one who had robbed the shipment. It was a custom of fear imbedded in the core of the outsiders that Cole sometimes forgot and pitied.

“Just do your job as you were. I will take care of the other matter.”

He nods abruptly. “Yes, of course, thank you,” He says walking away to do what was expected.

Maven’s jaw clenched as a renewed annoyance surged. As he walked out into the street, he took in the fresh morning air that almost hit the back of his throat. He flicked the cigarette to the cement crushing it with his heel.

He watched as the sun rose through the buildings casting a haze of orange.

Looking down at his watch, w _here the hell is he already?_ His annoyance was growing, he’d hardly wanted to deal with anything today especially an issue as big as this.

Suddenly the sound of heels echoing on cement caught his attention, women’s heels. His attentiveness draws in across the street, and he finds her immediately. Drawn to her exposed legs, Maven followed the sound of her heels echoing the empty streets.

 _Curious_ , he thought. _A little early isn’t it?_

Her olive tanned skin was so exposed this early in the morning. He smirked, following his gaze up, slowly wanting to take in every moment. Her face was hard to distinguish so far across the street but it was undeniable her features. It takes him back slightly.

_Italian._

He knew she had the heritage. Her mediterranean skin and brown hair flow perfectly curled down her neck. It was messy but shimmered in the morning glow, it almost made his hands twitch, wanting to reach out touch run his hands through it.

Her top hung loose off her shoulder, unlike where her abundantly fleshy legs gripped against her tight skirt.

Maven swallowed, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

 _I really need a fucking drink,_ he thought. Something itched in his gut.

He knew she’d felt his gaze because her pace had slowed and her movements become stiff.

 _Come on_ , he thought, _Look at me_ , almost broadcasting it to the world. Desperate for their eyes to meet. She doesn’t, much to his disappointment but she stops for a split second before entering her vehicle.

 _Are you tempted?_ His thoughts craving to know hers. She doesn’t give in to whatever made her halt for those few seconds before stepping into the car and slamming her door shut.

 _What were you up to?_ A voice echoed in his head as placed his hand in his pocket watching her slowly disappear down the street.

Bernard finally pulls up in front of him, focusing his thoughts. Frustration built again, replacing his priorities. _Bigger things, his concentration was needed elsewhere._ Maven let out one last breath of air before stepping into the car.

It was only 6:30am and he knew the day had just begun.


	3. Chapter 3

Dangerous was the air. Maven stepped out of the car adjusting his suit. Tig, his second was waiting at the entrance, greeted with a disparaged grin, “Nice morning then?”

He glared and brushed passed him.

The Calore’s owned a lot of housing and businesses, but Cal’s private residency was one he personally had pride in. The house was old, but newly renovated. The 19th-century wood panelling was old and modern.

Geometrical, everything in order, symmetrical and lavish much like Cal’s semblance. Lucien and Julius, Cal’s guards greet him at the end of the hall, a rush of intoxicating coffee grind intensified deeper into the house.

“Hell must have frozen over?” Caz jeered and Lucas chuckles slightly at his snide commentary. “It isn’t like you to fuck shit up, Maven.”

Arrogant and taunting was Caz’s forte, he loved to try and get a rise out Maven whenever he could. But Maven learned over the years that if he took offence over every minute word Caz said, there wouldn’t be a moment where his knuckles wouldn’t be rubbed down to the bone.

“He’s waiting for you out there, right now.” Lucas jumps in, calm and playing peacemaker like usual. He ignores him, his eyes still glued to Caz.

 _Who will look away first?_ Maven taunted in his head _._

Caz snickers, “Nothing ever pleases you, does it?”

He sneers, “Nothing involving you, Caz.”

Nudge past him and continuing on.

“Fucking filth,” Caz mutters under his breath. Maven’s fist clenched, holding back the impulse to feel his bone crackle under the pressure of his own fists. 

But he knew it wasn’t protocol to keep the head waiting.

He released his grip and walked through the archway and into the garden. The backyard is a miniature woodland of trees, roses and shrubs, each of them trimmed as if they were sculpted.

Cal sat at a small table, the steam from his Nespresso flowing from his cup. His suit, clean and his vest burgundy red. He was a man who prided himself on at lot, his appearance was regal. He’d always been like that. Ever since they were kids.

But back then Maven had only known him as Cal and the little kid he was back then. It seemed like it was forever ago, like a dream, only a distant memory of the boys they used to be. Even back then, in the distant past, Maven knew exactly were he stood and where Cal did—no one would ever let him forget it.

The families have a structure and its order—crucial.

Before the newer generation evolved, at the top, was alwaysthe tough guy, its how it used to be.

It still is, but there is a definitive difference between certain types of strength now. It isn’t alway judge on size or sheer brute strength, because there is always someone stronger, of course it comes in hand in a business like this. You can always recruit muscle, but fearlessness—that’s something you are born with. As much as when you are born with a taste for ruthlessness. It was almost second nature for Cal, more tactical and precise when it came to bloodshed. The individual on top is who he is become of his blood and nature.

Tiberias ‘Cal’ Calore, is one of those individuals. It’s always said _, ‘If you tell him you are going to do something you had better do it, for he will expect you too and more.’_

And he did.

Cal was quick, tactical and precise in the art of war.

Much like his father Tiberias, and men like Tiberias do not fear the consequences of their actions: those that do never remain on top.

Cal was royal blood, down the long line of the Calore crime family, savage is their history of leaders and fighters, who have existed on fear and respect since they entered New York crime syndicates in the 1960s. Though, Cal was born to rule. There is no uncertainty for the strength and fearlessness of the Calore crime family, especially Cal.

Most people do not live in privileged environments and so much carve a pathway for themselves. The tales of how the Calore crime family came from such a background are only rumours and tales. For there are some family secrets so buried even the dead can’t get to them.

“You’re late.” Cal's voice armed with annoyance. Cal was a lot of things but patience wasn’t one of them. His time was precious, as they say.

“Caz was at his games again, I apologise.” Maven replied, though they both knew It wasn’t sincere. He relaxed his shoulders and Maven sat across from him, he watched him closely, his movements stiff.

He was in a bad mood.

His eyes scanned the sophisticated surroundings, a feeling of warmth flourished on his face, the sunlight rested on his cheeks, almost serene like the calm before a storm.

“I don’t like problems, Maven.” Cal says.

 _Spoke too soon._ Maven adjusts his suit jacket buttons, undoing them to let his torso breath.

“I know. I’m handling it.” He affirmed, crossing his leg and leaning back into the chair.

“I expect you too.” Cal’s eyes never once looking at him, sounding just like his father. As the year went on he become more and more like him.

Maven knew this tone, it was never a request but always a statement.

“Don’t I always?” Maven remarked, in a low husky voice.Caution was something Maven always knew was insinuated around Cal or any one of the bosses, however, even if Cal would never admit, they shared a history.

He wouldn’t admit to being soft,but it didn’t go unaware that there was a slight difference towards Maven in his eyes; though, it absolutely didn’t mean he was any less of a solider under the weight of Calore’s rule.

Maven had known his place and worth for far too long now to ever forget it.

The other boys had bestowed the title, “Shadow.” In jest, but there was always the bitter, disgusted undertone of the truth that lies within the title. He was seen as nothing but a shadow, to the pure blooded lines anyway, especially the Heads of the families. Even if he had half-Italian blood, he’d always be seen as tainted; an outsider. Forced to be paraded around the city like a reminder of his mother's betrayal, a walking warning.

A shadow of the greater son of the great Tiberias Calore and he'd always just be the son who’s mother betrayed the family.

He was a _pawn._

In a game where you are only favoured as long as you were useful and needed—until you’re not.

 _Everyone is dispensable_. His mother's voice ringing in his head. 

Even though there was a part of him that despised it, he had always held an unusual place for Cal. Whatever you might call it, they shared blood.

Maven was allowed to stay by the graces of Tiberias and so was trained and carved into the perfect soldier. To always be in the shadows and do as he was told. Which was why he had been summoned here and given the job expected of him.

“We both know who it was, I only need to get things in order and of course, permission.” Maven commented, bored of the foreplay of silence and small talk.

Cal chuckled, “Interesting. You didn’t seem to need that last night.”

He looked towards him.

_Fucking Ptolemus and his quick instinct to go and grovel._

“What's this? Maven actually speechless?” His tone sharp and flat. “Not going to deny it?”

“I don’t need to deny anything.”

Cal’s index finger tapping rhythmically on the table.

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

“I, for one, don’t really give a shit if you killed him. Thats war.” His voice carefree, “One less Lakelander gang member.” He placed his cup on the table, “But what I do find immensely agitating, is that this isn’t the first time you’ve gone out of your way and killed someone without permission.”

The air changed as he shifted in his chair and looked at Maven, stern and bleak. He was the king after all.

“Fathers furious. Are you some fucking vigilante now, Maven? You think yourself above authority?”

 _I really wanted that fucking drink_.

Maven tightened the grip he had on his knee. Then releasing it, reaching for a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it slowly, while never tearing his eyes away from Cals.

He wasn’t foolish, he knew there were limits to how far he’d ever be able to push Tiberias and his golden son. Though there was always a darker temptation inside Maven that always wanted to just give in and let hell break loose.

He sucks in the bitter burnt taste and savours it, until his temptation sinks back into that dark hole it crept out of. 

To never lose control.

“I think nothing of myself.” He utters as the smoke filled the air, “I am nothing.”

Cal leans back, “Be careful of that thin ice you walk on, it might just crack from under you one day.”

Maven opened his mouth but Lucien interrupts, thankfully because he wasn’t sure what would have come out of his mouth without it.

“Your meeting is here.” Was all he said before Cal nodded gesturing at him to go away and he disappears into the shrubs. Cal stood adjusting his suit and doing up his vest, pushing back strains of his hair back into place. His hair was slick, black. A trait of the Calore blood even Maven couldn’t hide.

Maven followed his movement as Cal turned towards , closing the distance that once was the table between them. Leaning down and reaching for his cigarette, grabbing it from his mouth. His right hand grabbing Mavens own with his left grasping the cigarette.

Maven knew the price, knew the games Tiberias would get his son to play. Obedient was the golden son. Forcing Cal to do his dirty work and punishing was one of his favourites.

The sizzling of Maven flesh hissed in his ears as Cal pressed the smoke into the palm of his left hand.

The pain was sharp, biting into his skin like needles. Maven clenching his thigh, his nails digging deeper into it as hard as he could. He holds in his expression, _show no weakness_. His mother voice ringing in his ears.

He never wanted to let them see him break.

Cal’s face was hesitant in showing his emotion. He stops after a few seconds putting the smoke back into Maven front pocket, leaning close towards his face.

Maven focused on Cals neck tattoo, vivid in his sights and then back to his bronzed eyes. Mavens breath hitched from holding in pain.

“My father sends a message: “I taught you more manners than that.”

He won’t be as forgiving or lenient again, Maven.” His voice foreboding and grim, he backs away from Maven, “You have permission to do what’s needed as I expect it will be dealt with swiftly.” He stands talk and casually walks aways, saying as he leaves, “I hope that it was worth it.”

Maven focused heavily on the sound of Cals shoes tapping on the cobblestones as he faded from view.

Clenching his left hand to allowing the pain to keep him from focusing on anything else that he might feel.


	4. Chapter 4

He grasped his hand while the water runs over his wound, searing but the pain is nothing. It was child’s play, more like a slap on the wrist than a real punishment. Tiberias knew that, he liked to show his authority and hold. But that’s how his nature is, you don’t hold a kingdom by playing nice.

Mavens hands were hardly clean, no amount of water could ever wash away the taint. But he’d already made peace with that a long time ago.

The sound of the water filled the room as he wraps his hand firm and tight. Looking into the bathroom mirror he could feel the rage build, clutching the porcelain sink so tight he though it might crush beneath him.

One unchanging thing about this world, is the ever constant fact of change and its inevitability. _One piece goes down, another is there to take its place._

_‘I taught you better than that?’_

The sound of Cals voice ringing in his ears made his teeth grit, “Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, harsh. Holding back from screaming it and letting his anger get the best of him.

But the knock on the door breaks his deliberation.

“Hunt is here.”

He pulls down his sleeve down and hooks his gold cufflinks back together, putting everything neatly together.

 _No weakness,_ the voice chants in his head.

He opens the door to see Enzo waiting patiently.

As we walk down the hall of the firm Maven could smell the detective from a mile away.

Rotten.

His bourbon stained breath and cheap body axe blended in a concoction that fitted his character well. There was an abhorrence that would forever linger between us.

The sight of him makes Mavens stomach turn.

“Took ya’ lawng’ enough.” His jersey accent thick.

He stood but slouched slightly with his hand in his pocket. The window towering over him, shedding the light on his rough appearance. Haggard were the hems of his legs, shoes scuffed, his stubble peaking through like a shadow and his hair ruffled as if he’d just rolled out of bed,

 _Or just finished drinking all night,_ Maven thought. He’d seen him in worse shape.

“I didn’t know that I was on your time, detective.”

Hunt scorned, hated the acknowledgement of his title.

 _Bitter is the taste of truth_. _Let it run through your veins like poison_. A sad victory, but Maven enjoyed the little things.

“I have places to be and I hate coming here during the day,” he was agitated, most likely hungover.

Maven sat and Hunt followed his movement, sitting opposite of him.

“I need information.”

Hunt stares at him, the wheels turning behind his eyes and then responds, “Specifics?”

“One of Calore’s shipments went missing by the docs, I need surveillance.”

He groans, “I need a damn’ cawfee.” He rubs his temples, “With you people, always demanding.”

Maven pulls on his tie, adjusting its placement, “It’s what we pay you for, isn’t it?” He says with his eyebrow raised and low was his voice.

Hunts hand grip the arm of his chair, knowing he sold his soul to the devil a long time ago.

“There is no point in regretting decisions now, detective.”

He winched, subtle but Maven watched him carefully as always.

He recovers with a smirk, “And what did you sell, Calore? Because I wonder if you have a soul at all.”

Maven leaned towards him, “Now that’s something that i’d never share with someone as unprincipled as you detective, you might use it to make a buck. Since that’s how low your pathetic price is.”

Mavens voice was cold and coaxed with detest, penetrating Hunts very core. His smirk no longer plastered on his face.

_If only relying on the lowlife scum of police officers wasn’t a requirement in the game we play, I’d have asked anyone else._

Maven seethed as his thoughts and daydreams of reaching over and gripping his neck with his fingers. Arrogant as Hunt was, Maven knew they needed him, they did because he had assurances and advantages.

Most cops look at most the crime families and their associates like scum, trash of the worse kind. They never understand the people who would rather kiss the Mafia and talk to the police. I mean, It’s not rocket science, most people do not live in privileged environments and so much so must carve a pathway for themselves. Most of the desperate come from poverty, looking for something more and the mobs are willing to look out for their own—at a price.

 _Everything always comes with aprice,_ he thought.

The crime families see the opportunity that laid bare on the streets, another mans trash is another mans treasure, they say. If you give to the poor, look after them, give them jobs and money to take care of their families—well, anyone desperate enough, would be willing to do anything. With the Calore’s, they were smart and could twist anything and make it seem generous, giving an opportunity and help that the city won’t. Maven knew that, it was his blood too.

If you can see the gold in that, then you can hold onto that power far longer than anything else.

Officers, they’re just corruptible. A necessary pain in the ass to the crime families. Most of them are quick to say it's in our blood, born trash only know how to do trash. Their contradictory arrogan and egotistical nature astounds the majority of everyone in crime. Mostly they see the police and law enforcement as idiots who are too busy with their heads up each others arses to really have grasp into reality of how intricate the syndicates and gangs really go.

There have been a rare few people in the field who stood above the idiots in law enforcement and so little of them who are were actually deserving of such acknowledgement, who were truly good and righteous.

But Maven didn’t think people like that exist anymore, after what he’d seen.

Not all of them are corruptible, the world needed to believe that. Fine is the line we draw between good and evil. 

Some do it alone and rise above and to them, goes the greatest credit and respect; for others, there is the need for support of the backing group.

That’s where the four families come into play. It’s sort of a half robin-hood kind of thing. Except they keep most of the money for themselves, murder anyone who stand in their way and their entire families, immediate and distant.

The world has been built up on the privileged treading down on the underprivileged and Is the formula that institutionalised crime and drives its allure. It’s not a cop-out, just the truth.

Cops like Hunt, are an example of that, not even the “righteous” are different from the rest of us. He certainly wasn’t.

“I’ll need a bit to get what you want.” His tone annoyed.

“I’ll need it in the next two hours.”

He let out a breath, “You’re fucking kidding.”

Maven rose from his chair, “Two hours, Sherlock. Think you can manage that driving yourself into a fucking pit of bourbon?”

He eyes flare but does nothing to act.

 _Do it,_ Maven thought almost commanded it with his eyes, he’d give anything for a chance.

But Hunt does nothing to act.

 _Coward_.

Hunt mutters under his breath as he walks out of the room.

Enzo walks forward, “You think he’ll deliver?”

“He will.”

“There a reason you hate him so much?” Maven ignored Enzo’s question, for that was too long and complicated of a question. It was for him and him alone to hold.

Enzo sighed, accepting that he’d probably never know.

Maven knew that no matter what, that all the groaning and false sense of principle Hunt dished out there was a custom known, no matter what side you're on, rich or poor, good or bad; if there ever is such a definitive thing. It was the mutual understanding, to which even people like Hunt know: ‘You scratch my back and I will scratch yours.’


	5. Chapter 5

There may be a second of enjoyment in his day, maybe a minute if lucky. Where he could smoke or drink or read in peace, without the shit or drama.

Having all three was a luxury.

Maven sat in the corner of his study, the nook near the window and turned the page of the Art of War. Many called his mother crazy, but he could never forget her always reading and scheming. For the life of him, he’d never not acknowledge his mother’s greatest power, hiding just how smart she really was. Her silence was something she thrived on and is the same thing Maven grew accustomed too. It was his solace of emptiness that allow his mind some peace.

But rarely do people get what they want.

The door bursts open, “Maven, I want to go with you this time.”

Haden, the youngest member as of late, only fifteen, was looking to make his way into the ranks. He was smart but an utter pain in Maven ass recently. Haden joined, admiring the life, he was naive and childish in his notions.

Disturbing as it is for someone as smart as Haden, he wasn’t quick to catch on.

“I’m ready! I just need to come and show it.” He persists.

Maven finally contested and raised his head from his book, unsettled was his concentration.

“So you wanna play with the big boys, is that it kid?”

“I'm not a kid,” It was a kid’s response and a kid he was still, but not as young as Maven was.

He sighed, “I’ll allow it.”

Haden straightens his posture, Maven was already going to bring the kid along anyway but he thought he’d allow him to think he’d won a small victory.

“Now get out.”

Haden grins slightly, still a kid.

 _He has a lot to learn_.

Before he shuts the door, Maven gives him a tiny glimpse of just how much he needed to.

“You interrupt my reading one more, and this book will become a lethal weapon, got it?”

He stiffens and his childish grin gone, nodding swiftly and shuts the door. Maven would scorn himself for that later but he couldn’t help it, he got a slight enjoyment from fucking with him.

He enjoyed the little things.

A buzz of his phone abruptly ended that enjoyment. It was time to go to work.


	6. Chapter 6

The West side of Manhattan was overcrowded with a stronghold of poor and working-class Irish Americans. Its gritty reputation has long held its status in New York—Hell’s Kitchen. Plagued by the Murphy gang started by three brothers, under the Lakelanders mob.

The fight for territory is heightened and war is in the air. Everyone can taste it. The gang hold some of the West waterfronts, but mostly infesting the rookeries and rundown areas of housing; lots of drug-trafficking and contract killing. The waterfront was a mere offering, only by the grace of Tiberias Calore VI. He settled the Mob war back in the 70s and mediated a truce after the bloodshed became too much for the Lakelander mob.

Maven hated dealing with this particular gang. It wasn’t like they’d done anything particular or personal to him, its just that they were of that little importance it prickled at his irritation. It might have been how idiotic and chaotic they were. The two youngest brothers Roy and Lorcan, fickle daydreamers who have no imagination. Violent, irrational and nothing more, all muscle and no brains. The truth, It was the eldest brother, Rooney that he loathed the most.

Rooney was the true leader the gang.

The brothers just sort of tagged along like a dinner set, you only really needed the plate but you couldn’t get without acquiring the whole hoard.

Pitiless, violent, ambitious and the cherry on top was his ego. It was what practically made Rooney Murphy. It fuelled his very essence and it was that, that made him dangerous.Ego and his ambition tied it all together in a neat bow.

For a man who’s ego that was as big and vile and wild as his, was a man who thinks he’s entitlement and connections made him more than he actually was.

And it was this that made Rooney the most obvious suspect for the trouble of the Calore’s deliveries. But baseless evidence never gets real results, only truth.

That’s where the cops on the payroll tie in.

When you steal from the Calore mafia, especially Tiberias, you better pray that hell fire does rain upon your head and everyone you love too. Though Rooney wasn’t a man known for his “loved” ones. Known more so to beat on his whores to death, or kids or anyone who displeased him.

His irrational rage will be the death of him.

Maven had a particular distaste for his particular kind and Arden knew that. He’d guess this was also apart of what his punishment for killing one of the Lakelander lackeys. 

As the car drives into the West docklands, their black car stood out too much for his liking. He’d always prefer to make his presence not known so soon before stepping out, but that was unlikely. 

“Do you know anyone from the Hell’s Kitchen?” Haden pipes up, breaking the silence in the car.

Tig beats me too it and stares at him vaguely annoyed, signalling to zip it. He does.

Enzo looks up nodding towards him, putting away his phone. Maven adjusts his attention to the window, scanning the area before they step onto enemy soil.

As the car slows ready to stop, Mavens attention and disappointment catches Rooney and his brothers waiting potentially and eagerly.

Tig and Enzo weary and vigilant, securing their guns in their holsters. Haden stiffens and does the same.

“Lets hope it doesn’t come to that.” Maven says, truthfully but also practically trying to ease Haden. He didn’t want him jumpy on the trigger.

Haden nods.

We step out of the car are welcomed, if that’s what you wanted to call it.

“Welcome Maven Calore and friends,” Maven detested his last name in use and Rooney knew exactly what he was doing. Using his tainted unexisting name, establishing the ground and making a statement. They were in his arena and were no friends, indeed.

 _Fucking lakelander cunt,_ he thought while he pushed a condescending smile, “Quite the welcome.”

“Well, we knew Tiberias wanted words so I assembled my brothers to hear the concerns.” He gestures to his office near the water.

 _Like fuck you did_. He shifted at his thoughts, prepared and ready. Tensions were high.

Rooney gestures inside.

 _Like fuck I’m going in first, prick._ Maven thought _,_ “After you.” He gestured back.

Rooney only chuckles, “If you insist.” Rooney walks in and his brothers follow, and the others follow behind.

Maven knew he was testing the waters, seeing how much trust was lingering. But he should know that no smart man would walk into anywhere with his back turned, especially when it isn’t on his own terms. His brothers sit near the window and he takes his place at his desk.

Tig and the others stand near the door and Maven moves forward, refusing to sit and get comfortable. Realising he wasn’t going to sit, Rooney continued, “What is this meeting for, exactly?”

“It seems we are light on a few deliveries.” There was no point in playing coy, Maven wanted this over.

He takes the glass sitting on his desk and drinks, “And?”

 _Bastard_.

“And your men intercepted and robbed the cargo.”

He laughs, “Have they now?”

“Yes.”

“It seems like your judge, jury and executioner then?” He chugs down the remaining whiskey his glass. 

“You run these docs and you know of shipments. It seems you’re playing ignorant.”

 _Come on you smug fuck, say it._ Maven chanted in his head.

“Guess so.” Rooney says tauntingly, testing his patience. He move slightly and the brothers also tense, Tig, Enzo and Harden shift behind him. He tries to defuse the tension, by chuckling slightly,

“Well I guess if there is no proof we can’t move on intuition, only facts, right?”

“Right.” Rooney pours himself another glass. Overly relaxed.

“I guess you can see why I’m compelled to make this visit.” Cole pushes the conversation, wanted to stir the Irish beast he knew that was easily activated inside Rooney.

“I don’ give one fuck about Calore’s business. I’ve no’ heard nothin’ or seen nothin’.” He sips his whiskey, “And if I had don’ som’thin, I’d make sure It was loud and clear, got it?”

The pleasantries are over. Maven reviled at the thought, he hated playing nice.

“Oh I got it.” Maven says as he slowly walks around the chair and sits on his desk, “You're not smart enough for this kind of interception.”

“The fuck you just say to me?”

“Which brings me to my next issue. The Calore crime family and other gangs pay you 10% to do business at the docs, and for your lot to keep quiet. And well, we are all aware of the secret rake you steal from the earnings, which we ignore. Why?” He leans close to hum, “Because we anticipate it, you are such the cliche.”

“The fuck—“

Maven doesn’t let him speak, “We tolerate you rats.” He stands, “But there is a limitation to that.“

He swiftly takes the bottle and smashes it over his head, faster than Rooney or his brother could anticipate.

He staggers back into the chair blinded by the glass. Tig, Enzo and Haden already have their guns clocked and the brothers steady their hands.

“You fuck!” He roared, “You think you’ll make it our of here alive!” He clutches his eye, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

He adjusted his collar, and then grabs the shard of glass laying on the table, bringing it against Rooney’s fat greasy neck, “What we won’t tolerate is getting disrespected by the sewer rats.” He angled the glass deeper, “You think you can understand that clearly, you rat fuck?”

“Who do you think you are?” His voice ridged.

“Why Rooney, if you want to get to know me you’ll have to take me to dinner first.” He releases the glass and throws it to the floor across the room, “As for a fact, you’re not my type. But deep down, you know.” He pauses and pulls out his gun, smooth and steady.

With no hesitation placing it between his eyes, “I’m here as a threat, and your worst fucking nightmare.”

He trembles and swallows loudly.

CLICK.

His eyes squinted shut and stopped breathing for a seconded, jilted.

Nothing.

Slowly opening them again, he realises the gun had no bullet in the canister and his sinks in his chair.

“You have lost your cut, and now work for us for less than half.”

He adjusted his thought, recovering from the last 20 seconds.

“Like fuck! We’d be losing half the money we need to run the place!”

“That sounds like a you problem, doesn’t it. Maybe you will think twice before letting that ego get the best of you.”

As Maven goes to walk out the door, the noise of Rooney is screaming and ragging shakes the room. The boys follow after him still aiming their guns.

“He’s coming, Maven” Enzo appears at my left.

 _Of course he is_. Maven anticipated his moves.

Rooney stumbles out of his office, enraged, “Shoot this motherfucker dead, now!” it echoes down the docklands, but no one moves, “What the fuck are you doing!”

He pulls out his cigarette and lights it, his back still turned away from Rooney. Inhaling deep before he turns around, exhaling. His eyes sharp and focused, “Something does seem a little off, doesn’t it?” he gestures for Rooney to look behind him, he turns and staggers.

Men armed for a fight, “Did you think I’m that stupid Rooney? Guess ego does make men go blind.” He walks passed Enzo who places the phone back into his pocket and towards Rooney, whose face was still processing. He exhaled the smoke deep from his lungs and into Rooneys face.

“And one more thing” Maven, still holding his gun, slowly placing it on Rooney’s broad shoulder, again does his breath hold.

 _"If you know someone's fear, you know them,"_ his mother's voice was clear in his head.

He fires the two bullets he knows where waiting in the clip and time felt like it slowed. It always did when it came to taking a life. Maven never felt like it was over in an instant it always felt slow. The thud of Lorcan’s body hits the ground, following Roys screams. Rooney’s head spins, witnessing each shot that had hit Lorcan’s chest.

Fatal and clean.

As her place the gun back into his suit, the crowd watched in silence.

A jury, witnessing his dark nature, the hard truth that was this life and emptiness you had to feel in order to live it.

He buttoned up his jacket. Lifting his fast burning smoke and taking the last taste of it before throwing it on the ground. “Tiberias sends his regards.”

And then the Murphy brothers become a duo.

That’s the way of the game and if you want to play a hand in it you better be ready to accept the fact that if you don’t play to kill, or are smart enough to get away with it—your whole fucking world will come burning down.

You have to be willing to risk everything, damn the consequences.

It's the only way, when you play with the devil.


	7. Chapter 7

He’d never forget the first time he ever took a life. It's something that stays with you, it never fades. No matter the time, it feels as vivid as if it had just happened yesterday. The smell of the wet pavement, the colour of the shirt he was wearing, his glasses that were just a little crooked. It wasearly October, a Sunday, late and muggy after the rain had stopped. Maven envisioned it. He vomited the first time.

Still feeling the bile churning in the back of his throat.

He was fifteen.

It had not been the first time he’d seen blood before, but it the first time it was acquired by my hands.

Now, he bathed in it.

The steam of the shower fogs the mirror, it was something habitual to him ever since his first-to wash away the tarnished aroma that stuck to him. At first the copious tornado of emotions that riled up in his heart and soul every time he’d step over the threshold continued for the first few years, until it didn’t.

It stopped and so did the vomiting.

He had hardly felt anything in a long time. You grow numb in this life, it's the only way to survive.

It’s the piece of your soul that you have to bury away, deep to where not even the slightest light could touch it.

He step under the rush of water, the first touch of the hot liquid soothed him as it flowed over his face and down his body. He rested his hands on the wall in front of him, his hand still wrapped in the bandage.

He tilts his head down towards the floor allowing his neck to take the pressure of the water. The steam steadily relaxing his muscles.

Maven looked at his right arm—covered. The only part of myself he’d chosen to tattoo. And the sole touch of colour that stood out. Most men get tattoos for the mere statement of their gang, they keep it black and symbolic. Mavens was for him, and him alone. The black ink of his tattoo only contrasted with the one glimpse of coloured. His fingers running over it. The deep blue it once was had faded. The images reach his thoughts, he flicks his head back to wash his face and scrub away at his skin. He’d felt agitated and tense since this morning, the steam helped vaguely but he was stressed and hadn’t felt relieved in days.

He becomes aware as he looks down, he hadn’t had a release in nearly a week and in this business, any relief in any shape or form was all that held some guys together. His mind has been too focused elsewhere and left himself neglected since last Thursday.

Remembering the blonde from that night held perfect images of their night together—inside her. His cock twitched at the thought. He gripped it slowly in his hand, resting the other on the tile wall bracing the weight ofhis body. The images moves towards a flicker of the woman’s tight skirt from this morning suddenly itching at his brain, he breathed heavily, he was half-hard at the thought of the things he’d do to her. He almost cracked the tile with his fist when the buzzing of his phone interrupted, only making his pent up agitation rile up more. Steering his attention towards the phone he looks to see the number, his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head, _Wes_.

He hit decline. It immediately calls back and he answer reluctantly, fuming.

“What the hell do you want.” 

“Whoa, sorry princess! Catch you at a bad time?” He must have heard the shower, “Oh, showering with your bubbles were you?”

“Wes.” Maven was seething.

“All right, all right. I just thought I’d let you know your little baby boy is at the club being very naughty.”

He was silent and getting more frustrated by the minute. “It seems Caz brought little Haden for a party, he is absolutely plastered.”

 _For fuck sakes_.

There was nothing more Maven wanted to do than to ignore it and let whatever might occur happen, but Hayden was his responsibility, much to his vexation.

“Watch him. I am on my way.” He hangs up before Wes could respond.

_Fucking Caz._

He turned the faucet, his cock still twitching. The evident forehead vein on his head looked as if it was close to exploding.

“Fuck.” Was all he said before grabbing the towel.


	8. Chapter 8

Maven arrived at Black Spades in Brooklyn, one of the most popular clubs in the city, officially run by Rita Reyes. Reyes was widow who inherited her husbands fortune and empire, conveniently. However, unofficially, it was owned by the Calore crime family. Most of the four families cultivate their empire on such businesses, they compete for their competition, but Cal had an influence with the newer, younger elite that many of other families didn't.

The Black Spade was known for its particular experience, a club that was one of many fronts for business. Run by Rita--Red, on account her fiery head of hair. Red owns the club on paper and publicly, but privately Red works for Cal. Cal loved the gangster life, enjoyed being on top but enjoyed owning the clubs and associating with the elites. Although it wasn't entirely unsuspected that half the clubs in the city were owned by gangsters, mobs or crime families. Though it was exactly advertised either. So, it goes under the radar.

Maven never understood the association and fixation Cal had on dipping his fingers in with the elites. But of course, there were a lot of things he never understood about Cal. It wasn't that he was completely complex, more he was mostly so ordinary that it threw people off. Until, of course, his true nature unfolded.

_Everyone has two faces._

Red, while running the club, also ran and looked after the girls. Call them what you will, call girls, prostitutes, mules. The way Red ran it, it was like they had a choice, the girls were already on the streets so Red offered them a choice; corners and pimps, or high-end nightclubs. The mob didn't care, they were apart of business and as long as Tiberias pockets were full and it was under the radar.

Maven entered the club passing the long line out the front. It was always packed and being associated in the syndicate had its perks, if you'd call it that. Though this was the side of the job that Maven enjoyed. He had an inclination toward the atmosphere off the nightclubs, and the alcohol on tap being a primal factor. Though, It was something intoxicating, that anyone who goes to a nightclub can understand. It's like this primal need for others, to move and experience a freedom, to let go of all your inhibitions and lose oneself; become separate from who you are during the day and become something else at night.

That's what the club was all about. In the Black Spades, you got what you craved, total permission to feel elation, to feel the sort of bond that was denied in the coldness of the streets beyond.

"You're late." Wes greeted him near the doors. Wes was a distant cousin of the Samos bloodline, it gave him rein and protection within the city, but it also made him a complete ass, who'd fuck with anyone and demand anything because of it.

"I didn't know I was on your time, Wes." Maven's voice was vague and disinterested. He scanned the floor for Harden. Wes smiled, amused. He enjoyed Mavens abrasive and frosty nature, it only made him want to poke the beast more and Maven knew it.

"Looking for your boy toy?" He stood beside Maven, entertained. He wasn't in the mood and was practically a bomb about to explode, he grabbed Wes by the jacket hauling him forward.

"I love it when you get all rough, Mavey." A beam of delight on Wes's lips, knowing he was testing Mavens patience. "All right, They're in the black booth near the bar."

Maven took no time wasting anymore seconds on Wes, breaking his hold and walking through the crowd. The nightclub was a pulsation on loudspeaker. The multicoloured streams resembled the Northern Lights as they swirled in an array of blues, acid greens, purple and gold.

The rhythm vibrating against his shoes.

He moved throughout the crowded dance floor, nudging and pushing his way towards the booths. There he spotted Julius with a brunette in his lap and a glass in his hand, toasting towards Haden who had two girls next to him. Maven reached the booth instantly removing the girls from Haden.

"Go." His voice harsh. The girls do as he commands.

Haden's eyes widen and startled by Mavens presence. He was confused by Haden apparent sobered state. His teeth gritted, he was obviously batted into coming by the damned weasel and he fell right into the trap.

 _Fucking hell_.

"Ah, the saviour here to rescue the damsel." Caz chanted.

"You do enjoy being a dick don't you, Caz." Maven was irritated and in the mood to play.

"Only when it comes to you, doggie."

A grin threatened to appear on Mavens lips but Haden interrupted.

"I didn't know you were comin'?"

"Neither did I." He sighed and undid his jacket taking a seat at the booth. He'd come this far and thought, _fuck it_ , he wanted a drink. He grabbed the bottle of Whiskey on the table and an empty glass, pouring the liquid into it.

He raised the glass to Caz, 

"Woof," was all Maven said before downing it.

Caz chuckles and raises his class back as if to say, _touché_. 

Tig and Enzo soon joined, who were already upstairs in the lounge. They drank and enjoyed, as if they were regular business men going for a drink after a long days work at the office. Well, one truth was, it had been a long day. The club was electric, everyone feeding off of the bass and vibe, dancing and drinking and connecting. Julius and Enzo had drifted off onto the floor, finding their prey for the evening. Tig sat back quietly enjoying the atmosphere, it was in his nature, he was always in the background. Haden had been send home, much to Haden's disappointment.

"Well, you boys look comfortable." Red appeared, leaning against the leather booth.

She was tall and beautiful and for someone in her mid-forties she has the presence of a twenty something—vibrant, like her fiery hair. It contrasted with her deep green eyes, heightening her features. She nodded to Tig who gestured back then diverting her eyes to Maven.

"Maven," She sung in a sensual voice, "as handsome as always." She raised her martini, taking a sip.

Cole grinned, "Not as divine as you, Red." He played back.He liked Red, he enjoyed her lust for life and quick witted nature, it was intriguing and amusing to see her dominate the men around her; wrapped around her fingers. Even as she works under men she never succumbed to them and always did it her way, whether it was their idea or not.

"Just making my rounds and to let you know there's a gin and tonic waiting at the bar. If you need anything you just let one of my girls know." She winked before disappearing into the crowd.

 _Gin and Tonic_ , code for: Cops.

Maven and Tig glanced at each other and it wasn't long before they were greeted.

"Hello, boys." Lieutenant Amelia Lewis was as tough as her demeanour. She was stocky and small but vicious in her reputation and in her shadow, detective Hunt followed.

He didn't mention this morning that he'd be lurking around here tonight, Maven thought.

"Lieutenant," his met her eyes, "out for a stroll?" his smirk playful.

"I'd say the same thing for you Mr Merandus." Her hand was placed on her hip and holster, relaxed and looking for trouble. She never went "undercover" never hiding who she was or what she stood for, Maven admired that, but would never dare say it.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"News is that you went for a little stroll into Hell's Kitchen today, lost were you?"

He knew there would be noise about the power play with the Murphy gang but he didn't realise how fast, but she always was right on the mafias tail.

"You can't believe everything you hear, Lieutenant. Isn't that right, detective?" Maven said, acknowledging Hunts presence. Hunt thought he would be safe cowering behind her but Maven was one to never let him rest.

Hunt's presence shifted forward, "You're right. Guess you can't trust a word from scum like you."

"I could say the same." Maven iced blue eyes piercing Hunt as if it were a knife carving up dinner.

Hunt moved forward, but she stopped him.

"Do it." Maven said, egging him on, "I dare you." It left his tongue almost like a whisper.

"Don't forget yourself." She breaks the tension, trying to cool Hunt.

 _If only she knew,_ his thoughts were cunning.

"Protect and serve, right?" His condescending tone evident, "Holder of the law and justice, Detective?" A chuckle slips his lips. Hunt steps again but her grip is firm.

"Don't think you've done enough damage for one day?" She says with a bitter voice, her attention now brought back to Maven. He knew she was looking for anything, a hint or slip off the tongue, but she should know better than to play these stupid games. They never worked with him.

"Oh darling, what's life without a little drama?" Maven's head titled raising his glass in the air slightly in the form of a toast, then bringing the class to his mouth.

Hunt grabs the Lieutenant by the arm, "Let's just go, Amelia."

Her eyes never leave Mavens, stern and assertive.

"I'll be seeing you soon." She says casual looking around the booth.

"Oh, I count on it. Sweet dreams, Lieutenant." Maven smiled soft and wicked. Watching them as they disappear into the crowd.

"That Lieutenant is trouble." Tig's said in a grating voice, always on alert.

Maven leant back resting his arm over the lounge, amused. "Nothing we can't handle." The night had just begun he thought. The sound of the glass hitting the table draws his eyes to the woman.

"For you," she purred. She was one of the new bartenders at the club, small and delicate-featured. Pretty in a flawed, accessible way, exuding sex. Her leather jeans clung to her slim legs. Her top was tight and short, hanging low enough for her bra to stick out of the top and high enough that the slightest movement felt as if her breasts would be exposed.

She slid his drink across the table towards him, almost eye fucking him up and down, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. As she walk away back to the bar, the napkin attached to the bottom of his class has the time she got off.

It felt as if the night had definitely just begun.

As he scanned the club his attention was drawn to the dance floor, moving to the crazy beat, everyone stimulated, like they belonged to the music.

As his eyes watched the room that's when he caught _her_.

Her same features and undeniable legs confirming his conviction. The woman from this morning was here, on the dance floor. His eyes gilded all over her, untamed and uncontrolled as if he was trying to devour her with his eyes. Her hair still messy and curly as it hung down her exposed back, long and brown tinted with grey streaks. Her physique was curved, earlier he could see her fleshy legs but she was closer and everything was definitive--strong and womanly. Her jaw carved and square, her lips lush and plump and tainted with red. He gazed at her dress that left little to the imagination, hip hugging and miniature, his eyes couldn't tear away—wouldn't.

Then her gaze met his

He clenched his drink. Her chestnut eyes burning deep into his own. She looked startled at first, but eased into his gaze—succumbing to it. She was still dancing and It stirred him up, something wild flickering in his groin and stomach. Following her hips, then back up to her face as he licked his lips and wondered how she would taste.

 _Curious little thing_ , his mind feral with desire.

He didn't believe in coincidences. He wanted to command her to him but a man's hand soon reached for her waist.

 _Caz_.

His gripped his class, frustrated by the interruption.

His eyes watched as his hands moved over her, it made his teeth grind. He latched his attention on her, she was uncomfortable but was leaning into him still looking at him. Maven was unsure of her mixed signals.

Until Caz's hand slipped under her skirt and her body jolter, her hand collided with his jaw.

He almost huffed a laugh. _Feisty,_ he thought.

Caz's pride was scorned grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer, but she didn't back down or scare away, lifting her other elbow into his gut. His anger was ablaze he grabbed her neck.

"You little bitch!" He slapped her as his voice rang over the music. He went again but Maven caught his hand.

"Now, that isn't anyway to treat a lady." His voice raucous. Before Caz could say a word a woman's hand grabbed his shoulder.

"That was assault and battery."

"Lieutenant," Maven was taken back unexpectedly, unaware she was still there, "Can't we deal with this another way."

"Ma'm?", the Lieutenant turns to the woman.

 _Don't say it,_ Maven almost pleaded. _Be smart_.

"He assaulted me."

 _Fuck_. He almost grunted in vexation.

"Caz Fernados, you're under arrest..." The Lieutenant went on as she cuffed him, his eyes glowed with a fury.

"You better fucking sleep eyes open, puttana!" Caz's voice was coarse and malicious as he spat at her shoes. Half the dance floor had stopped to witness the scene.

As much as Maven was amused at Caz being taken, he was also faced with a dilemma. His eyes went back to her and she was already staring at him.

"You shouldn't of done that, little one." He stated.

Her eyes were curious and dark, drawing him in. It was if there was a sea of poison that raged behind them. Her face was flushed from the dancing and the events that had unfolded, it spread down to her exposed chest, slightly sweaty. He swallowed.

After a moment, she answered, a glint of fire ignited in her gaze, "Why's that?"

He brought his eyes back up to hers, "It wasn't very smart."

"I don't think I was asking for your opinion." Her tone abrasive.

"You might want to."

"Oh really?" She paused, tilting her head looking at him up and down, "And you have all the answers then?" Her tone was playful, but forced. His grin grew, amused by her remark and leaned down towards her ear.

"You might want to be care throwing members of the mafia in jail, darling. Unless you have a death wish."

She quivered under his breath, recovering by taking a step back, "I can handle myself."

There was something in the atmosphere when she said it—an intoxication to her appetite and honeyed voice.

"Heh, You look adorable trying to be tough, love." He grabbed her arms pulling her body against his, "But your life now is in the hands of fate. And fate, where Julius is concerned, is rarely kind or forgiving."

She moves against him trying to break his hold, "And what about you?" Her voice toneless and forward.

"Trust me sweetheart, you don't want to know the answer to that question."

 _If she only knew the depth of his darkest sins,_ He thought,becausehe knew she wouldn't be so brave as to pry into that question. "He'll come for you." Maven said releasing her hands. She steps back abruptly.

He reaches in his pocket grabbing a card, holding in out in-front of him. "And when he does, that's my number." Her brows arched at him but she goes to take it. He pulls it back just out of her reach, "But my help comes with a price, darling."

 _Everything always has a price_.

He thought she might have comprehended his caution with the tone of his voice, but she reached forward and took it. Hoping she understood the severity her actions tonight. The sequins on her dress catch the light against the disco ball that twirled above—reflecting every shade of the rainbow into his darkened eyes.

"Your name?" His voice almost beckoning, _Tell me._

"Mare," was all she said and as Maven watched her she disappear from his sights, he knew he would see her again.

For she was apart of the game now. 


End file.
